


Housekeeping

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Maid in Manhattan AU, Maids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2576138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Maid in Manhattan AU.</strong> Grantaire gets a job at a hotel and meets the incredibly hot US Senate candidate, Enjolras, who accidentally thinks he's a guest instead of an employee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Housekeeping

**Author's Note:**

> Really only kind of/sort of a Maid in Manhattan AU, because I strayed a lot from the original and kept basically only the premise, for understandable reasons. As such, you really don't need to have seen the film to understand this.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“I can literally never thank you enough,” Grantaire said gratefully as he accepted the hotel uniform shirt that Feuilly handed him. “When my landlord said that I needed to pay up or get out, I really didn’t have any other options, and I’m so glad that you would vouch for me here.”

Feuilly gave him a smile, but his tone was serious when he said, “Well, you’re welcome, but your thanks may be a bit early. This is a hard job, man. Long hours for not great pay, and the owners are very particular about coming in to work on time and working hard throughout the day. No slacking, no showing up hungover or, worse, still drunk or high, no—”

Grantaire flushed and interrupted quietly, “I don’t do that anymore. Well, the high part, at least. And I will be better at this, I promise. I know my track record is admittedly not great, but…I’m not going to embarrass you or make you regret getting me this job. I promise.”

Feuilly’s expression softened. “I trust you,” he said, clapping Grantaire on the shoulder. “Now come on. We’ve got a lot of work today. There’s a fundraiser dinner thing being held in the ballroom this evening so we’ve got to get everything done even earlier than normal.”

“A fundraiser?” Grantaire asked with mild interest as he followed Feuilly from the locker room, buttoning the uniform shirt over his tshirt. “For whom?”

Shrugging, Feuilly jabbed the elevator button forcefully. “For Enjolras,” he said carelessly. “You know, that guy running for Senate.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah,” he said, something close to awe in his voice. “Yeah, I know who he is. I’ve, uh, I’ve been keeping tabs on his campaign.”

Feuilly glanced over at him and grinned when he saw Grantaire was blushing slightly. “Oh, really?” he said, a little wryly. “You, the avowed non-caring, apolitical guy who’s given up hope for the future of this country, are following a senatorial campaign? Dare I ask why, or more accurately, dare I assume it has something to do with Enjolras being single and gay and also making People Magazine’s Most Beautiful People list?”

“Are you accusing me of being shallow?” Grantaire asked.

Feuilly smirked. “Nice try at evasion, but don’t think I didn’t notice the lack of denial.” The elevator stop and they both got off. Feuilly cleared his throat and the maid who was just about to go into a room glared at them. “Grantaire, this is Éponine. She’ll be showing you the ropes today.”

The maid, Éponine, groaned loudly. “Aw, c’mon, Feuilly, I had to show the last trainee around. Don’t make me do this.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Grantaire said dryly.

Éponine cast a critical eye at him. “Oh, fuck off,” she said mildly. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just gonna take me twice as long if I gotta show you everything, and I gotta pick Gavroche up after school as it is.”

She looked pleadingly back at Feuilly, who shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, Ép, but you’re the only one I trust on rooms today. Everyone else is setting up for the fundraiser.”

“Stupid fucking fundraiser,” Éponine sighed, turning back to Grantaire. “Fine, newbie, but if you slow me down I’ll gut you and hang your entrails out to dry.”

“Nice,” Grantaire said approvingly. “I would have gone with flayed alive, but gutting works, too. Very bloody, very painful. Definitely the way to go about threatening someone.”

Éponine’s gaze turned thoughtful. “I think I’m going to like you,” she declared.

Both she and Grantaire gave identical grins to Feuilly, who sighed. “And I think I already regret getting you this job.”

* * *

 

“This is it,” Éponine said, relief evident in her voice. “The last room of the day.”

“Already?” Grantaire said, a little surprised.

Éponine gave him a look. “It’s almost 3,” she said. “We’ve been at this for almost nine hours now, and people start checking into their rooms soon, so don’t give me this ‘already’ shit.”

Grantaire laughed and followed Éponine into the room. “How are you so good at this?” he asked. “No offense, but you look like you could still be in high school. How long have you been working here?”

Éponine shrugged. “A few years. I had to drop out of high school when my parents just kind of split and I had to look after my little brother. But before they left town, they owned an inn, so I’ve been working in this business basically for as long as I can remember.” She flashed a smile at Grantaire before adding, a litle smugly, “If you weren’t dragging me down, I would’ve finished this an hour ago.”

“Well,  _that_  I believe,” Grantaire said, going to replace the towels in the closet and stopping in his tracks. “Oh, no, someone left something behind.”

He stuck the towels in the closet and pulled out the garment bag, carrying it over to the bed and laying it out. “What do you think it is?” Éponine asked, sounding only mildly curious. “Dibs if it’s a dress.”

Grantaire unzipped the bag and whistled lowly. “Sorry, you’re out of luck. It’s a tux, and a Tom Ford at that. Holy shit, do you know how much this costs?”

Éponine shrugged. “A couple hundred?”

“Try more like a couple thousand. At least.”

“For a suit?” Éponine asked incredulously, coming over to frown down at it. “It looks like every other suit I’ve ever seen in my life. Who the hell would pay that much money for  _that_?”

Grantaire snorted. “Some rich snob, obviously.” Still, his hand lingered almost longingly on the suit jacket, belying his disdain.

Éponine raised an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you try it on?” she suggested slyly.

Grantaire looked up at her, shocked. “I can’t do that!” he protested. “It’s not mine, and the last thing that I want is to get fired on my first day of work for trying on a patron’s suit.”

Snorting, Éponine stepped forward to pull the tux out of the garment bag in one fluid motion, holding it up against Grantaire. “Please,” she said. “We do it all the time. This hotel room hasn’t been occupied for the past few days anyway — we’re cleaning it because someone’s checking in this afternoon. Meaning that whomever left this behind clearly has no intention of coming back to pick it up. Besides, it looks like it would fit.”

Grantaire still didn’t look convinced. “And you’re sure I won’t get in trouble?”

Though Éponine rolled her eyes, she said solemnly, “I swear on my honor as a maid that no harm will come to you by putting the ridiculously overpriced suit on. Ok?”

After another moment’s hesitation, Grantaire grabbed the suit from Éponine. “Fine. But it stays in this room, alright? And we’ll never talk about it again.”

Éponine rolled her eyes again. “Fine, fine. Just go!”

Grantaire grinned and headed towards the bathroom, clearly to get changed, while Éponine rolled her eyes again and went back to getting the room ready. After a few minutes, Grantaire stepped out of the bathroom. “I look ridiculous,” he told Éponine, holding his arms out from his side.

Éponine, however, gasped theatrically and clapped her hands. “Ridiculous? I’m sorry, I think the word you’re looking for is  _hot_. Holy shit, man, did you look at yourself? I swear, I’d jump you right now if I was, you know, into you even slightly.”

Shaking his head, Grantaire turned to look skeptically at his reflection. “You think so?” he asked, smoothing the front of the tux. “I mean, it’s a bit…I don’t know, much, don’t you think? Not that it’s a real problem since the only way I’d be able to afford this is if I was secretly a prince and didn’t know about it or something, but man, I guess being poor means that my fashion sense just doesn’t involve suits that cost thoursands of dollars.”

Éponine snorted. “You should meet my ex, Montparnasse. He never let being poor eat into his fashion sense.”

Grantaire examined his ass critically in the mirror. “Well, maybe it’s more that I haven’t quite gotten over the whole ‘drug user chic’ aesthetic.” He caught the concerned face Éponine made and hastily assured her, “Not that I do that anymore. But the aesthetic remains, as does the gaping hole in my savings account.”

Though Éponine nodded, her forehead creased and it looked like she was about to say something when the door to the room opened and both she and Grantaire froze, staring in horror at the door. “Oh,” the guy at the door said, hand still on the doorknob. “I’m so sorry. I asked if I could get into my room early and I didn’t realize—”

He broke off, because Grantaire had just reached for the handle of the bathroom door as something to steady himself on, missed, and almost fallen over, his expression ashen. “Oh, shit,” he swore, then looked up, positively petrified. “Um. I mean. Uh.”

“Sorry,” the man said again, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Let me introduce myself. I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Grantaire interrupted, though the color hadn’t yet returned to his face. “You’re, uh, you’re Enjolras. The guy running for Senate. Right?”

Enjolras smiled his ‘Most Beautiful People’-worthy smile and strode into the room, holding out his hand for Grantaire to shake. “I see my reputation precedes me. Combeferre, my campaign manager, would want me to use this opportunity to ask if you’re a Republican or a Democrat and if you know who you’re planning on voting for, but I would prefer to leave the campaign stumping for the fundraiser later.”

“Grantaire,” Grantaire returned, a little weakly, holding onto Enjolras’s hand for perhaps a little longer than necessary. “And yeah, I’m probably not one you’d want to waste your campaign speech on. I already know who I’m voting for.”

Enjolras’s smile widened. “I’m hoping, given the great suit you’re currently wearing, that this means you’re voting for me, and coming to my fundraiser tonight.” Grantaire made a small squeaking sound and Enjolras somehow interpreted this as an affirmative. “Great! You should join me at my table tonight. That way there’ll be somewhere there that I can talk to without having to proselytize.”

Grantaire smiled for the first time since Enjolras came in, and something in Enjolras’s expression shifted, almost softened, at the sight. “I’m sure that will hardly stop you from proselytizing,” Grantaire teased. “After all, I only said that I knew who I was voting for — I never said it was you.”

“A very good point, Mr. Grantaire,” Enjolras said smoothly. “All the more reason for you to join me, so I can determine if it is me you’re voting for, and if not, how I can get you to change your mind.”

Grantaire shook his head. “My mind’s not so easy to change.”

Enjolras grinned. “All the more reason for me to try.”

“But won’t your other tablemates get jealous?” Grantaire asked innocently. “What with you spending all your time trying to convince me to vote for you?”

“They might,” Enjolras acknowledged. “But it’d be worth it.” He glanced over at Éponine, who was watching this entire exchange with a look of utter bemusement on her face, and blushed a little. “Anyway. I’ll let you two finish up in here. I should go check in on the fundraiser preparations anyway.” He looked back at Grantaire and smiled again. “And Grantaire, I’ll see you tonight.”

Grantaire just waved vaguely, staring after Enjolras as he left, and then turned to stare blankly at Éponine, who stared right back at him. “Dude,” Éponine said, a little awed, and Grantaire shrugged helplessly.

“I think I have a date tonight.”

* * *

 

“Do you think it was just the suit?” Grantaire asked Feuilly worriedly as he tugged the suit in question down slightly. He had been forced to tell Feuilly what had happened when Éponine had tired of his freaking out and sent him away, and luckily, Feuilly had neither chided Grantaire nor made him return the suit — yet.

Feuilly glanced over at him and frowned. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a very nice suit, but—”

“No, not like that,” Grantaire said, on the verge of hysteria. “I mean, it’s not just a suit, it’s a  _suit_ , and it implies money, and this whole fundraiser is, what, $5000 a plate? So does he just want me to join him because he thinks that I have money?”

The pitch of his voice had gotten to a dangerously high level, and Feuilly rolled his eyes. “This is  _Enjolras_ ,” he said patiently. “He has made his political career on fighting for the poor and disenfranchised. If there is any politician in this country who honestly doesn’t care about money, it’s him. And if it makes you feel better, it’s the union that sponsoring this fundraiser on Enjolras’s behalf, not him, so he definitely doesn’t care about how much money you do or don’t have.”

Grantaire nodded, but didn’t look any less anxious, and Feuilly rolled his eyes again. “Just go,” he said. “Your dream guy is waiting for you.”

“He’s not my dream—” Grantaire insisted, but Feuilly effectively cut him off by shoving him through the door.

Grantaire staggered but recovered nicely, brushing off his jacket as he stood, surveying the room. Luckily, his tux wasn’t at all out of place, and he slowly made his way towards the front of the room where Enjolras was deep in conversation with a sandy-haired guy with glasses. Enjolras glanced up as Grantaire approached, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Ah, Grantaire,” he said warmly. “Now the proselytizing can commence.”

“Now, now, no need to start that on my behalf,” Grantaire said easily, offering his hand to the sandy-haired guy, who shook it cautiously. “I’m Grantaire, by the way. Enjolras and I, uh, we met earlier.”

Enjolras smiled and put his hand on the small of Grantaire’s back, and Grantaire couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face at the gesture. “Oh, sorry, this is Combeferre, my campaign manager. He’s the one you can thank for finagling the seating arrangement so that you can sit by me.”

Grantaire looked at Combeferre, a little horror-stricken, and Combeferre laughed. “It really wasn’t any trouble. Seating arrangements are significantly more trouble than they’re worth and the person who was moved knows what he did and why he was moved.”

Glancing back at Enjolras, Grantaire managed to relax just a little, which was saying something, because Enjolras’s hand was still splayed warmly against his back. “Well, I’m glad to know that I’m not inconveniencing anyone.”

“Yes, but speaking of inconveniencing, I have to inconvenience you for a moment, as there are some people I have to say hello to,” Enjolras told Grantaire. “But I’ll be back in a moment.”

Grantaire waved him off and took his seat, ready to do some quality people-watching. Instead, Combeferre took the seat next to him, raising an eyebrow at him. “So I took a glance at our guest list, and there’s no record of a ‘Grantaire’ on there,” he said conversationally.

Grantaire blanched. “Um, well, see, I ran into Enjolras, and he, well—”

Combeferre waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t particularly care. This is the first time in a long time I’ve seen Enjolras actually be excited about one of these kinds of events, and I know for a fact that it’s because you’re here. So just…” He hesitated, then shrugged and stood, clapping Grantaire on the shoulder. “Don’t ruin that for him. Alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire said, possibly the first and only sincere thing he’d say in that room all night. “I won’t.”

As Combeferre left, presumably to talk to other people, Grantaire turned to watch Enjolras as he worked his way through the room, shaking hands and making small talk. He couldn’t stop the small, lovesick smile that spread over his face, and he ducked his head and blushed when he realized how often Enjolras glanced over at him, smiling as well.

There was no way he could keep this charade up. He wasn’t this person that he was pretending to be, so it would be better if he just bowed out. But then he made eye contact with Enjolras and knew that he wasn’t going anywhere.

* * *

 

“And what else do you want me to say?” Grantaire said from where he was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the toilet. “He was a perfect gentleman. He walked me to the front door of the hotel and kissed my cheek.”

“There’s no way that can be it,” Éponine scoffed, tucking the sheets carefully under the bed. “I saw the way he was looking at you. He had bedroom eyes, and the only thing he was thinking about that suit was how quickly he could take it off of you.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah. Ok. Sure.”

Éponine threw a pillow at him and Grantaire ducked, laughing. “Seriously, there’s  _no way_  that’s it. I want all the details, so spill.”

“Fine,” Grantaire sighed, scrubbing at a particularly recalcitrant stain for a long moment before adding slyly, “He asked me to come out to lunch with him today in between campaign stops.”

Éponine made an unholy shrieking noise and Grantaire winced. “Oh my god, are you going to go?”

Grantaire sat back on his heels, suddenly serious. “I want to, don’t get me wrong, but…I don’t know if I can. He doesn’t know anything about me, and if he did…I mean, if he knew what I do for a living, what I  _used_  to do…there’s no way he would want to go out on dates with me. Not when he’s a visible public figure and I’m, well, me.”

Éponine stared at him. “You have one minute to explain what the hell you’re talking about before I beat you bloody for being so stupid.”

Throwing his hands and the toilet brush into the air, Grantaire made a frustrated noise before trying to explain. “I mean, look, at best, I’m seen as some kind of pity-boyfriend by the media, right? Recovering drug addict who is working a minimum wage job in an effort to atone for the destruction he’s done for his life. And at worst, I’m some kind of anchor dragging Enjolras down and distracting from the real issues in his campaign. And regardless of what either of those would do to Enjolras, I have to be selfish enough to think of me, because I don’t know if I could handle that right now. Not when I’m barely holding everything together as it is.”

“You’re assuming that the media is going to figure out who you are,” Éponine pointed out, though she sounded hesitant.

Grantaire gave her a look. “It’s 2014,” he pointed out evenly. “If they can’t figure out who I am within a few hours, then they’re not very good at their jobs.”

Éponine made a face but didn’t argue that point. “So what are you going to do?” she asked. “I’m assuming you really want to go on this date, right?”

“More than anything,” Grantaire sighed. He glanced over at the clock. “And it looks like I have about two hours left to figure out what I’m going to do, so…I guess we’ll see.”

“Well, good luck.”

Grantaire smiled grimly and turned back to the toilet. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I’m gonna need it.”

* * *

 

ENJOLRAS SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY MAN.

SENATE CANDIDATE TAKES BREAK FROM CAMPAIGN TO DATE UNKNOWN MAN.

ENJOLRAS: ‘I KEEP MY PRIVATE LIFE PRIVATE’, WON’T CONFIRM DATE WITH MYSTERY MALE.

Grantaire stared in abject horror at the newspaper stand on the street the following morning, snippets of his face as captured by paparazzi plastered all over the front pages and covers of the newspapers and magazines, along with pictures of a very harried-looking Enjolras.

“Oh, shit.”

* * *

 

 

Feuilly touched Grantaire’s shoulder gently, and Grantaire practically jumped out of his skin. “Holy shit,” he said, hand pressed against his heaving chest. “You scared the shit out of me! Give a man some warning, would you?”

“Sorry,” Feuilly said, glancing Grantaire up and down critically. “You look like shit.”

Grantaire gave him a dirty look. “So you scare a guy half to death and then decide to insult him? What a pal, Feuilly. What a friend.” He turned back to the bed he was supposed to be making, his shoulders slumping. “But yes, I know exactly what I look like. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. And before you ask, no, I haven’t returned to any bad habits, I promise. Mostly I’ve been hanging out in my apartment and avoiding everyone.”

Feuilly frowned. “Even Enjolras?” Grantaire jerked one shoulder in a half-shrug and Feuilly sighed. “I know for a fact that he’s called you. Why are you avoiding him, of all people? You need to see him even if it’s just to tell him the truth and break things off with him properly.”

“There isn’t anything to break off,” Grantaire muttered. “We had one lousy date — two if you count his fundraiser. We haven’t even had a proper kiss yet! We were just about to when the paparazzi showed up, and nothing spoils the mood like photographers chasing you down the street. It’s better this way — he’ll forget about me, I’ll…carry on, and everyone will be happy.”

Feuilly’s frown deepened, but before he could say anything, Éponine burst into the room. “You guys have to come see!” she said. “Someone’s painted a huge fucking mural on the park wall across from the hotel! And you’re never guess who it is they’ve painted.”

Both Grantaire and Feuilly looked at each other and shrugged before following Éponine outside and across the street to the small group that had gathered around the wall. “There was a sheet covering it for the last few days,” one of the bystanders was saying. “The wind must have blown it off.”

Grantaite and Feuilly pushed to the front of the group and stopped in their tracks, because the central figure of the mural was unmistakable: Enjolras, painted similarly in stance to Liberty Leading the People, but dressed in his classic red suit jacket, his fist raised in lieu of a flag. Crowds of people were gathered behind him, clearly joining him in some kind of revolution.

Scrawled across the top of the mural were the words, “OVERTHROW YOUR GOVERNMENT AND VOTE”, a paraphrase of one of Enjolras’s speeches, where he talked about how voting was an opportunity to peacefully overthrow the government. The only other writing on the mural was a small, capital R written in cursive in the bottom right corner.

"It looks  _just_  like him,” Éponine said admiringly, and Grantaire grunted.

"Eh, they didn’t get the eyes quite right, though they did a good job on the hair, I suppose," Grantaire said dismissively.

Éponine snorted. “I’d like to see you do better.”

Grantaire shrugged, but Feuilly elbowed him in the ribs before saying in an undertone, “Speaking of doing better, I thought you said you hadn’t returned to any of your bad habits.”

Grantaire merely shrugged. “I didn’t think painting counted.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “No, but defacing public property does.”

Grantaire shrugged again though he also smirked a little, and they both went back to looking at the mural, or, more accurately, looking at the commotion surrounding it. News vans started to show up and Grantaire paled and shank in on himself, though he still didn’t leave, instead sidling closer to a reporter from one of the top stations so that he could hear what she was saying.

The reporter gave the same report as everyone else before adding, “And as a network exclusive, we’ve learned that Senate candidate Enjolras is reportedly ‘very interested’ in meeting the artist behind this mural. His campaign just issued a statement saying that while he cannot condone damage done to public property, artistic expression is one of the most basic rights of a society, and the fact that someone has chosen to express themselves in this way is, quote, ‘extremely gratifying’.”

Grantaire could feel himself blushing and quickly headed back into the crowd, especially as even more news vans showed up, including MSNBC and CNN. “Don’t you want to be on the news?” Éponine asked him. “This is going to go worldwide!”

"Yeah, I’ll pass," Grantaire muttered, though he clapped her on the shoulder as he brushed past.

He had no desire to be on the news; he had no desire to be anywhere near reporters, and not just because the quick view the media had gotten of him hadn’t quite pinned down who he was, and he had no desire to spoil his so-called air of mystery. Mostly he didn’t want Enjolras to somehow see him and figure out his real identity — whether as a housekeeping staff member of the hotel or the painter of the mural.

At least, he didn’t want Enjolras to figure it out on his own, because for the first time, he wanted to actually tell Enjolras the truth.

If he was being honest, it was mostly because of what Enjolras had said about the painting, and Grantaire couldn’t reveal himself as the artist without explaining everything about himself and about the situation. Including why he had lied to him in the first place.

Which meant that he was going to need to take Enjolras up on his offer to buy Grantaire dinner to apologize for the inconvenience of their last date.

* * *

 

Grantaire nervously smoothed the front of his suit and mentally thanked Feuilly for letting him “borrow” another suit that some hotel patron had left behind. It didn’t fit  _quite_  as well as the Tom Ford — that suit had practically been tailored to him — but it emphasized all of his good areas while hiding some of his more unfortunate flaws.

Of course, Feuilly had been quite adamant that Grantaire could’ve worn anything, that Enjolras really just wanted to see him, but he had finally given in to Grantaire’s begging, pleading, cajoling, and puppy-dog-eyes. “I thought this evening was supposed be about telling Enjolras the truth,” Feuilly had grumbled. “Not about keeping up the lie.”

“It is about telling the truth,” Grantaire had responded. “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t look damn good while telling the truth.”

And if the way Enjolras’s eyes had widened appreciatively when he saw Grantaire was any indication, then Grantaire definitely did.

Of course, Enjolras looked pretty good himself, and Grantaire let out a low whistle. “You know, if I didn’t already know you were in politics, I would recommend you take up modeling because  _damn_.”

Enjolras laughed and shook his head. “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed as he walked around the table to pull Grantaire’s chair out for him. “I am far too old to become a model, and besides, you pull off a suit far better than I do.”

Grantaire raked his eyes pointedly up and down Enjolras’s body and the way his suit clung to him perfectly and gave him a look. “Now  _you’re_  being ridiculous.” He glanced around the restaurant, glad that the wait staff had sat them in a quiet, fairly hidden corner. “This is really nice. Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Enjolras said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve been eating on someone else’s dime for most of the campaign, so it’s nice to be able to buy my own sustainably harvested Pacific Halibut.”

Snorting, Grantaire asked innocently, “But I thought beef was one of the best food for environmental sustainability.”

This comment led to a twenty-minute discussion over appetizers about the impact of commercial farming on the environment, and Enjolras ranted well beyond his carefully worded statements about farming that he crafted for his campaign. Grantaire, for his part, argued right back, especially about organic and sustainable foods’ impact on prices and the disproportionate impact on poor communities.

That discussion bled into a larger argument that sustained them through dinner and even dessert, and Grantaire was finishing the last of his wine when Enjolras sat back in his seat, a smile spreading across his face. “This was nice,” he said. “I actually haven’t had this much fun during the entire campaign.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, it doesn’t sound like you like campaigning much,” Grantaire remarked, as casually as he could.

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t mind you saying, because it’s true. Campaigning is an unfortunately necessary part of our political system, and it’s not something I enjoy.” He smiled at Grantaire. “But sometimes meeting people makes it just a little bit better.”

“I’m sure winning won’t hurt either.”

Enjolras’s smile faded slightly. “Well, being a senator means that I’ll be able to do a  _lot_  of good things. But it also means that I’ll have to move to DC. Which means that I’ll be moving away from…well, from you.”

Grantaire’s heart seemed to stop, and he stared at Enjolras, his mouth suddenly dry. Abruptly, he stood. “I, uh, I think I have to go,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?” Enjolras asked, confused, standing as well. “I thought we were having a good time. I thought—”

Grantaire shook his head. “It’s not — I was having a good time. I…look, it’s not you. I just…I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I don’t — this is one mistake I don’t want to make.”

A hurt look crossed Enjolras’s face. “You think this would be a mistake,” he said quietly.

“No, it’s not — Look, there’s something you don’t know, ok?” Grantaire’s voice was rising in both volume and pitch, and Enjolras was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “Oh, God, how do I even begin to explain this? The…the first time you saw me, I was—”

“You were incredible,” Enjolras said softly, and Grantaire stopped, staring at him. “I’m not one to date — People Magazine really did me a solid by reporting that little fact to the world — and I’m certainly not one to believe in love at first sight or whatever, but when I saw you…”

He trailed off and Grantaire slowly shook his head. “I just—” he started, his voice weak, and then he shook his head again and surged forward to kiss Enjolras.

Enjolras kissed him back, then slowly laced his fingers with Grantaire’s. “Stay,” he said quietly. “Please?”

Grantaire hesitated for a moment more before nodding slowly.

* * *

 

“Good morning,” Enjolras said, his voice low, and Grantaire groaned and squinted against the light streaming through the blinds of Enjolras’s hotel room. Enjolras laughed lightly. “You know, if nothing else, getting to see your bedhead made last night totally worth it.”

Grantaire made a face and finally forced his eyes opened. “If that’s the only thing that made last night worth it,” he started.

Enjolras laughed again and leaned in to kiss him. “Well, maybe not the  _only_ thing that made it worth it,” he whispered before kissing him again.

Just as Grantaire was beginning to feel awake enough to really get into the kiss, which was as excellent as any they had shared the night before at the restaurant, in the cab to the hotel, in the elevator on the way to Enjolras’s room, and in Enjolras’s bed, Enjolras pulled away, making a face. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I have morning breath and didn’t even think about.”

“I really don’t care,” Grantaire told him honestly, but Enjolras just laughed and shook his head, leaning down to kiss Grantaire’s cheek.

“You say that now, and yet. I will be just a minute, I promise.”

He stood and Grantaire watched him head into the bathroom, appreciating the curve of Enjolras’s bare ass in the light even more than he had the night before. With a sigh, he rolled over to blink at the clock before sitting bolt upright. “Shit,” he hissed, standing and grabbing his clothes, hastily redressing because if he wanted to head home and change before work, he _really_  had to leave.

Glancing towards the bedroom door, Grantaire debated over saying something, but given that he had completely failed at telling Enjolras anything even close to the truth, perhaps it was for the best if he slipped out early.

So he decided not to say anything, and instead headed for the door.

His plan might have succeeded if he hadn’t have forgotten the small fact that there was a rather dedicated contingent of reporters following Enjolras. Dedicated enough to camp out down the hallway from Enjolras’s hotel room. “Oh, fuck,” he said as soon as the first flash went off.

The reporters were shouting over each other to try to get Grantaire’s attention. “Did you hook up with Mr. Enjolras?” one shouted, while another called, “How is Enjolras as a lover?”

But one in particular got Grantaire’s attention, mainly because he used Grantaire’s name. “Mr. Grantaire, I wanted to ask—”

Grantaire froze, all the color draining from his face as he stared at him. “How do you know my name?” he croaked.

The reporter smiled widely at him. “Oh, you’d be surprised what we know about you. I assume you’re still employed at this hotel as a part of the housekeeping staff? Does Enjolras know about your history with drug addiction and your family’s fortune that you lost to your addiction?”

Grantaire just shook his head mutely, trying to back away from the reporters when suddenly, the door to Enjolras’s room opened and Enjolras stepped outside, confused. “Grantaire—” he started, then stopped when he saw the reporters, who instantly scrambled over themselves to ask him questions.

“How does it feel dating a member of the staff?” one asked, followed by, “You are dating, right? Or are you just sleeping with the help?”

“Grantaire?” Enjolras said, turning to look at him, and Grantaire just stared back helplessly.

The reporter previously accosting Grantaire used this opportunity to ask, something almost viciously triumphant in his voice, “Enjolras, how do you feel now that you know who Grantaire really is?”

Enjolras ignored him. “Grantaire?” he asked again.

Grantaire just shook his head and fled.

* * *

 

Grantaire lay on his bed, staring up at his ceiling and ignoring the knocking on his door, knowing that it was Feuilly coming to yell at him, to ask him why he had quit the hotel, or to yell at him for lying to Enjolras, or to yell at him for not leaving his apartment for several days straight. It was hard to say which Feuilly would be most upset about.

“Go away,” he called, glad that for the first time in days he didn’t sound like he was crying, even if it was only because he didn’t think he had any tears left to cry.

The knocking paused, then started up again, and Grantaire groaned and rolled off the bed before slumping to the door and yanking it open. “I said—”

He broke off, staring, because standing at his doorway, with his hands in his pockets and looking almost nervous was Enjolras. “Oh,” he said, feeling a little stupid. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Enjolras confirmed. “May I come in?”

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Grantaire said, clinging to the door because he was afraid if he didn’t, he’d fall over. “Who told you where I was?”

Enjolras shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “After I couldn’t find you at the hotel, I asked Feuilly where you were, and he told me you quit. Which I’m assuming is my fault, and I’m sorry. And then I got Feuilly to give me your address, which I am not sorry about.” At Grantaire’s odd look, he explained, “Feuilly and I have been friends for years.” He shifted uncomfortably before adding, “And he told me who you really were. A long time ago, actually. Like, right after I met you.” Grantaire positively gaped at him, and he blushed. “I wanted to tell you that I knew, but I didn’t know how to bring it up when you obviously didn’t want me to know, for whatever reason.”

Grantaire stared at him. “So you…you knew this whole time? And you let me make a fool out of myself and get hounded by the paparazzi and everything when you  _knew_  who I was?”

“Um,” Enjolras said, unusually ineloquent for a Senate candidate. “Yes?”

Grantaire was still staring at him. “For whatever reason?” he repeated, as if just now realizing what Enjolras had said. “You really can’t understand why I wouldn’t want you to know who I was?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Not really. I mean, yes, there’s some things in your past, but who doesn’t have things in their past? And it doesn’t make you a bad person, nor does what you do for a living. If anything, it makes you even more commendable, knowing that you’re working hard to turn your life around, and—”

Grantaire held up a hand, his expression stony. “Nothing about what has happened to me or what I’ve done to myself is commendable,” he said. “I don’t want to hear the spin that your PR team put on this. I want to know what you really think about it.”

“That  _is_  what I really think about it,” Enjolras said, a little confused. “Grantaire, I think you’re amazing. And it was never any of my business what you’ve been through, so I certainly wasn’t going to force you to tell me. My PR team may not be thrilled about it, but they knew that there’d be difficulty no matter who I decided to date, and your skeletons aren’t as bad as some, I promise. And even if they were, that doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”

“You…” Grantaire started, before shaking his head in disbelief. “Is this because of the mural?”

Enjolras looked confused. “What mural?”

Grantaire looked confused as well. “Didn’t Feuilly tell you? I painted that mural of you, the one that started this whole stupid mess with the reporters.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “No, Feuilly didn’t mention anything about it.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You painted that? You painted that incredibly flattering mural?” Grantaire shrugged, blushed, and Enjolras positively beamed at him. “Thank you,” he said seriously. “I can’t thank you enough for that. It was incredible.”

Shrugging, Grantaire looked away and muttered, “It was nothing.”

Enjolras reached out to tilt Grantaire’s chin up and kissed him lightly before telling him, “No. It was a hell of a lot more than nothing.”

Grantaire blushed but managed a small smile. “Well, in that case, you’re welcome.” He looked almost anxiously at Enjolras. “Are you angry about any of this? Me keeping things from you — though obviously not well — or causing so many problems, or whatever?”

Shrugging, Enjolras told him, his voice quiet and a little thoughtful, “No, I’m not angry. I know a few things about forgiveness, and besides, what’s important is that the truth is out there now. And the media can do whatever they want with that, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you, or that I would very much like you to be my boyfriend.”

“You realize that I won’t make a very good political boyfriend, right?” Grantaire asked, his voice a little strained.

Enjolras shrugged again. “Well, it’s really a stepping stone more than anything, because I think you’d make a pretty good political husband.” Grantaire promptly choked on air and Enjolras frowned concernedly at him. “Am I moving too fast?”

Grantaire looked faint. “Um, maybe a little,” he muttered. “I mean, look, we just now know the truth about each other, and we’ve only been on one real date, and I still don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle the media scrutiny, and—”

“Right, so definitely too fast,” Enjolras said, flashing him a nervous grin. “We’ll table that conversation for the moment, then.” He cocked his head slightly. “What are you doing now that you’re not working at the hotel? Because one of my campaign staffers owns an art gallery, and he said that he’d be interested in showing any art by the muralist.”

Grantaire’s face lit up. “Seriously? That’d be…that’d be great. Thanks.”

Enjolras’s smile widened. “Great. Are you doing anything for dinner tonight?” Grantaire started to speak but Enjolras interrupted. “Wait, sorry. I’m not going too fast again, am I?”

“No, that seems to be going at the right pace,” Grantaire told him, and kissed him. “And I’d love to get dinner with you. And I’d love to tell you more about my past, and hear about yours, and what caused you to know a bit about forgiveness.”

Enjolras laughed and twined his fingers with Grantaire’s. “Well, it starts with the first time I got kicked out of high school. And remind me to tell you about my anarchy phase. And then there were the four separate colleges I went to…”

* * *

 

“And I want to thank the people of this state, who have shown, time and time again, that they are on a path for change and for moving forward,” Enjolras said over the thunderous applause of the crowd at his victory party at the hotel. “Together, we can set a new path for this state and for this nation, and I want to thank those who voted for me, who worked on this campaign, and who believed in this vision for the future.” He paused and glanced behind him on the stage, meeting Grantaire’s eyes, his smile widening. “And I especially want to thank those who challenged me along the way. You’ve made me a better candidate, and will undoubtedly make me a far better Senator, and I think it goes without saying that I couldn’t have done it without you.”

More applause met that, along with a special smile from Grantaire, and Enjolras turned back to the crowd, unable to stop his huge, almost lovesick grin. “And just as together we will step into the future, I too will be moving into my own future. I am proud to announce today that the love of my life agreed to marry me before we even knew the results of the election — so we know he’s not just marrying me because he wanted to be married to a Senator.”

Grantaire turned beet red at the cheers and applause that was aimed at him, and Enjolras quickly turned the conversation back to his speech, wrapping it up to the applause and the balloon drop, and Grantaire proudly stood next to him, holding his hand as they waved at the crowds. Then Enjolras kissed his cheek as Grantaire whispered, “I’m going to fuck you so hard later — Senator.”

“Technically I’m not a senator yet,” Enjolras told him, though his grin had turned dirty as he ushered Grantaire off the stage.

At the bottom of the stage, Feuilly was there to greet them, grinning widely. “Congratulations, Mr. Senator-Elect,” he said to Enjolras before winking at Grantaire. “And congratulations to you, too, fiancé.”

Grantaire grinned and flashed the ring on his finger. “Thank you very much. But I believe congratulations are also in order for you — I heard that you’ve been promoted to manager of the hotel! You definitely deserve it.”

Feuilly waved a dismissive hand, though his smile also turned smug. “Oh, it’s nothing. Barely a bump in pay and twice as much responsibility. Besides, Éponine is incorrigible about the whole thing. And it’s nothing compared to a second art show, if the rumors are true.” Grantaire shrugged but grinned, and Feuilly’s smile softened. “So what are you going to do, move to Washington with Enjolras?”

“Actually, with my art picking up and a possible third art show in the works, it doesn’t make sense to move full time at the moment, so I think that I’ll split my time between Washington and here.” He grinned at Feuilly and clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, do you think I could talk to the manager of this hotel about the possibility of extended stay rates?”

“I think that can be arranged,” Feuilly said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think that you two should escape now before you’re mobbed by the reporters and the supporters and your staff and my staff.”

Enjolras smiled thankfully at him and grabbed Grantaire’s hand. “Thanks very much for that.” He turned to Grantaire. “Are you ready?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve heard good things about this hotel, so I look forward to trying out the room for myself.”

Enjolras’s smile softened and he leaned in to kiss Grantaire’s cheek. “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” Grantaire told him, squeezing his hand. “Mr. Senator.”

“Mr. Senator-Elect,” Enjolras corrected.

Grantaire considered it. “Nah, I don’t like that as much. Besides, I only agreed to marry you so that I could call you ‘Mr. Senator’, so…” Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire laughed. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs and celebrate on our own. And if we need extra pillows or room service, I think I have an in with the housekeeping staff.”


End file.
